


Crowns & Swords

by argle_fraster



Category: Final Fantasy IV
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argle_fraster/pseuds/argle_fraster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a king was never what Cecil intended the day he set out from Baron towards Mist, and now, he's not sure if he knows how to deal with all that it brings. A series of visits to the others help to put his mind at ease.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crowns & Swords

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tinamachina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinamachina/gifts).



> This story is divided into the four aspects of Buddhism.
> 
> Tinamachina, I really enjoyed writing for you, and I hope that you enjoy this piece!
> 
> Written for this prompt: Cecil has anxieties about ruling a kingdom, and he turns to his fellow crowned heads (Edge, Edward, Yang) for advice/support. Gen prefered.

**happiness**  
Damcyan Castle sits in the middle of the sand swept dunes that cover the land, as far as the eye can see. The last time he was here, the brick and mortar of the fortress itself had been torn apart and cast across the yellow sea, and he is glad now to see it standing tall in one piece, with spires reaching up to the sky as if the stone-laid fingers could reach the moon itself.

Inside, the decor is simple and clean. He wonders, as he is being led through the hallways by a pleasant, quiet page, if it was done for aesthetic purposes or simply out of necessity; Damcyan has lost much in the past year, and it will take centuries to rebuild all that was burned.

Edward, however, seems no worse for the wear. He is seated at the head of a long table when Cecil enters, and rises immediately with a bright smile. There has always been something infectious about Edward's demeanor - perhaps his own feelings have always been interwoven with his songs, and as such, he influences those around him with his emotions.

It's an interesting though, at least.

"Cecil," Edward says, and clasps Cecil's fingers warmly with both hands. He's still smiling when they both sit down. "I wasn't expecting you here for days; I hope there isn't a problem that spurred you into visiting early?"

"No," Cecil assures him, because the last thing that Damcyan needs is more to worry about. The table top in front of him is smooth and new, its surface unmarred by the atrocities the castle has seen in the past. A quick glance at the side shows the mark of the Troians - a gift, then, from the Council of Eight, and Cecil is pleased.

"I hope I haven't disturbed you by coming ahead of schedule," he continues.

Edward waves a hand, the red of his tunic a stark contrast with the wash of gray brick behind him. "Never! We're always happy to receive you."

"I just..." Cecil trails off, and suddenly feels uncomfortable. Why, he doesn't know - he's seen Edward at his worst, fought alongside him at his best, and now Cecil still manages to feel like a strange, awkward child standing at the foot of someone more important than him, even though he knows it isn't true.

The other man's face is open. "What is it, Cecil?"

"How do you do it?" Cecil asks.

"Do what?"

Cecil gestures to the receiving room around him. "Live here like nothing happened. Like your country wasn't nearly extinguished in this very room."

Edward is quiet for a long moment, fingers tapping out a steady rhythm against his chin. "I thought about building a new castle," he starts, and sounds apologetic for some reason, eyes fixated on a point beyond Cecil's shoulder that only he can see. "I thought I would never be able to come back here again. How could I rule, when this place had seen so much death?"

"Why didn't you?" Cecil asks.

The other man smiles and shrugs a bit; the action is so inherently _Edward_ , so much like the shy and sheepish persona Cecil remembers from their journey together. It's nice to know that that man isn't completely gone, he's just grown up - into something stronger and harder and much more resilient.

"My family has always lived here. Anna lived here. I lived here. I couldn't imagine living anywhere else."

Cecil will never forget the stench of Damcyan as it burned in the Red Wings' wake. "But can you be happy here, then? With everything still buried beneath you?"

"Yes," Edward answers, instantly. "That's what makes me happy."

When Cecil levels him with a confused look, Edward laughs, and the sound is a twinkling echo in the room bouncing back at them.

"You look so concerned!" he chuckles. "I didn't mean it like _that_. It's just that - they are all here, with me, supporting me. Even those who died, I wouldn't want to simply _desert_ them. That would feel far worse than knowing they met their end here."

"I think I understand," Cecil says, and hopes that it's true.

"Being happy isn't about running from your past," Edward tells him, suddenly serious. "And it isn't about carrying it with you, either. You have to let it exist without fighting it, and let it go without clinging."

It's Cecil's turn to laugh now, though the sound seems bitter even to his own ears. "Easier said than done, isn't it?"

"Well," Edward says, and smiles, leaning back in his chair, "if it came easy, we wouldn't have very much to write songs about, would we?"

 

**eternity**  
"Are you restoring the ninjutsu ranks, then?" Cecil asks, as Edge leads him through the maze-like corridors that make up Eblan's castle. He isn't sure if the fortress has always been like this, or if this is one of Edge's more eccentric decisions as the country's ruler; either way, the labyrinth seems to suit the country and its civilians well.

Edge nods, hands twisted behind his form and clasped together. "Harder than it looks, that. Most of our elders were killed in the raids, which means we're really out of teachers."

"I suppose for you, that _is_ a big problem," Cecil says, and is rewarded with a rich laugh.

"Not to worry, Cecil! Ninja will never fade away completely - you just may not know we still exist."

There aren't many people within the castle itself, but there weren't many left after they came out of the caves, either. Cecil wonders if Edge is still angry over what the Tower and Golbez did to his kingdom. Edge is one to hold onto things like that, only to use it as fuel for something dangerous later.

"Did your father teach you about being King, before...?" is as far as Cecil gets.

Edge's face turns contemplative. "Not my father, my mother. She was the real ruler here. The women typically handle most of the decisions - it's seen as more practical. But I don't think she ever expected I would need to be where I am now without her."

"How do you do it?"

The other man shrugs, and is suddenly carefree again, the splitting grin once again plastered across his face. "I get yelled at a lot," he admits. "

Cecil laughs at that, because he's seen it with his own eyes before. "I suppose you would."

"Why twenty questions?" Edge asks.

There are still holes in the walls, bits and pieces that have never been completely filled in, and Cecil wonders if Edge is keeping the castle like that on purpose. He stares at one of the crevices for a long while in silence, before answering, "I'm not sure I'm ready to be King."

"Little late for that," Edge chuckles.

"I just don't think I know how to rule a kingdom."

He gets smacked on the shoulder, and it stings all the way down his arm.

"Oh, shut _up_ ," Edge says, though he seems more amused than genuinely irritated, which for a man who seems to live in a state of constant over-stimulation is probably an unusual thing. "You went to the _moon_ and saved the world. You're already the most revered figure of this _century_."

"That doesn't mean I know how to lead," Cecil says, and rubs his arm, because it still hurts.

Edge just rolls his eyes. "Cecil, to be completely honest, I doubt your Kingliness is what people are even going to remember. You could probably burn Baron to the ground and your name would still be handed down in legend as the Holy Paladin who rode a giant whale and killed a giant ball of sizzling hatred in space."

Cecil contemplates this for a long moment, and thinks maybe the other man is right.

"But, you know," Edge adds, and laces his fingers behind his back once more, "make sure they also talk about that sweet-ass Ninja who went with Cecil, and feel free to embellish my many glorious exploits."

 

**purity**  
"I always feel guilty about not being able to protect Fabul," Cecil admits, while the moon is full and out above their heads, bathing the courtyard in a hazy shine.

"That is unnecessary on your part," Yang tells him. They are up on the high wall that surrounds the castle, in a small terrace - when they had arrived, Yang had told him that he sometimes comes here for solace, to practice and meditate in peace, with the glow of the sea and the wind of the mountains at his back. Cecil can see why he likes it; the breeze against his cheek is refreshing.

Cecil shrugs. "I know, but I still feel responsible for it."

"You do that with far too many things," Yang says, and sits, legs folded and crossed, hands resting lightly on both knees. He looks serene, and Cecil doesn't know how he does it, with the pressures of ruling on his shoulders. "The world brings things at our doorsteps, but we did not always invite them. You can't change those things, and nor should you spend the energy trying."

Cecil joins him on the ground - it's cool, but comfortable. "You'll never fold under the demands of being a king. Why is that?"

"Because I know what I am and what I need to be," Yang says, simply, and closes his eyes.

For a long moment, they sit there in silence, and Cecil watches the monk breathe deeply, a steady rise and fall to his chest. Yang looks the same, save for the scars that dot the browned expanse of his chest - from the Tower, in the Underworld, and healed by the Sylphs, the criss-crossing white lines are a constant reminder of what he sacrificed so that Cecil and the others could get out alive.

Cecil can't imagine that level of devotion. He shifts, dragging the heel of his boot against the grain of the stone, and says, "Are you happy as king?"

"Yes," Yang answers, instantly. "I can do much for my people on the throne."

"Do you feel like you are less of a monk now, because you are King?"

One of Yang's eyes opens, fixing on Cecil for a moment. "The world is not so black and white, my friend. You can be many things at the same time, and still commit yourself to all of them. Are you not both a king and a husband?"

"Well, yes," Cecil admits.

"And you are a friend, and a mentor, and a hero, too."

Cecil frowns. "Many of those things I did not mean to happen."

"Ah, but that is the realness of life," Yang says - his hand comes down on Cecil's shoulder, and his palm is warm and comforting. He squeezes the joint there once, briefly, and adds, "For what it's worth, you are one of the most honorable men that I know."

"But I never aspired for that," Cecil says.

"And that," Yang tells him, "is precisely why you do so well at it."

 

**true self**  
He is glad to be back in Baron, even if the walls of the castle hold memories best left buried by time. He feels at home walking through the corridors lined with tapestries and the candles that flicker in the wind that accompanies his movement. He breathes in deeply, and thinks of all that he's done - this is his home, and he needs to embrace the role that he has been given. He thinks now that he is ready to do so.

He finds Rosa in the upstairs chamber, standing above the cradle with her hair pulled back away from her face.

"Welcome home," she says, and kisses his cheek. Her fingers are down near the blankets, clutched in a chubby hand.

"How is he?" Cecil asks. She fits into his arm as he loops it around her form, tugging her near; she smells like her namesake, fresh and clean, like spring after the rain, and he lets it strengthen his resolve. She is a pillar, just as the stone spires are in the throne room, and he does not have to be afraid to put weight upon her shoulders.

"Strong," she tells him, with the soft sort of smile reserved for the baby, the kind that lights up her whole face and makes her more beautiful than Cecil ever dreamed she could be. "He'll be a warrior just like his father someday."

"Hopefully, he won't have to be," Cecil says.

He is rewarded with another smile for that; he knows that Rosa understands him. She leans her head to his shoulder, hair pillowing against his tunic. "How were your visits?"

"Good."

"And the others?"

Cecil thinks of Edward's quiet strength, Edge's honesty, and Yang's wisdom. "They gave me much to think about."

"That's what you were looking for, then?" Rosa asks. "You looked troubled before you left, but you seem more at peace now."

Cecil kisses her forehead, and gets mostly her hair. "I think I'm ready to be King."

"Cecil," Rosa laughs, and cups his face with one hand, "you were always ready, you just didn't believe in yourself."


End file.
